Country diary

The gently rolling swell off the Northumberland coast was deceptive - just enough to create a few treacherous, larger-than-usual waves on the incoming tide. One broke on the shore and left me ankle deep as I stared out to sea, concentrating on holding binoculars steady on birds that kept disappearing in wave troughs.

As I squelched back up the beach, I realised that one had swum close inshore and was looking straight at me, not 20 metres away - a red-throated diver, still in magnificent red and grey breeding plumage. These sleek birds make their way down the north-east coast in autumn, adults and young, feeding inshore, masters of underwater pursuit. We settled down on the grassy bank to drain seawater from my boots, drape my socks over the rocks to dry and pursue a more comfortable form of ornithology, letting the incoming tide drive wading birds towards us. On the tideline curlews picked their way through the wracks, while higher up the beach, turnstones flipped weed in search of seaweed flies and a squabbling flock of starlings hunted sandhoppers among the flotsam and jetsam.

And we had larger company - a doe-eyed grey seal surfacing close inshore, whiskers glistening in the sunlight, riding the swell, radiating an air of contentment on a limpid autumn afternoon. It slipped below the surface and reappeared a few minutes later with a large silver fish, clamped in its jaws but still threshing violently. The commotion attracted a caterwauling flock of gulls, but the seal and its catch had already disappeared, leaving nothing but a swirl of broken water.